


Roses are Red

by masi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:05:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3110564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masi/pseuds/masi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ushijima wants to spend Valentine's Day quietly and not in the presence of Oikawa Tooru.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses are Red

**Author's Note:**

> Written for UshiOi Week, Day 4: Confrontation + Celebration

Ushijima receives thirty boxes of chocolate and three pink roses on his first Valentine’s Day in Tokyo. The roses are a confusing and unwelcome surprise. Also, he has received less chocolate than he used to in Shiratorizawa.

He supposes that all of this is to be expected. Everyone at his university seems a bit forward, a little unconventional. They think nothing of leaving roses on the chairs of their unsuspecting classmates. The two female students he had to gently let down five minutes ago did not seem all that let down when he said he wasn’t currently looking for a girlfriend. And there are many outstanding players on the volleyball team and not enough devoted fans, so everyone gets a little less chocolate. Even Oikawa has received less than he is accustomed to, judging by his current frown and the way he is advancing on Ushijima, who needs to fit just one more box into the spare grocery bag he brought for today before he can leave the classroom and return to his dorm for a quiet night of studying.

“Well, aren’t you popular,” Oikawa begins, in a singsong voice. “Look at how much pity-chocolate, oops, I mean, _courtesy-chocolate_ , you have. Did you have to beg for them?” He takes one of the roses and sniffs it. “You have a lot of practice in pestering people, don’t you, Ushiwaka-chan? All those years asking me to be your setter.”

Ushijima stuffs the last box in, slides the other two roses inside, and hoists both of his bags onto his shoulder. He has become so accustomed to Oikawa’s insults that he almost doesn’t hear half of them nowadays. He is also more patient and open-minded about things now. One has to be, after high school, after being defeated at the sport he thought he excelled at by a couple of upstarts, one who has orange hair. 

Besides, Oikawa may spend his mornings and evenings calling him “Ushiwaka-chan” while subtly and not-so-subtly making fun of everything from his hair to his spikes, but because they are on the same team now and because Oikawa is a setter, Oikawa has to toss to him during practice and during official matches. “You’re living the dream, aren’t you?” Oikawa said last week, after a match, when Ushijima had been looking at the red marks on his hands and most probably smiling to himself, and Ushijima has to agree. To an extent, he is living the dream. He has wanted Oikawa to be his setter since the day he first saw Oikawa orchestrating a team. Maybe even before then, when he first saw Oikawa toss a volleyball high up into the air and jump up to meet it.

He doesn’t need anything else now from Oikawa, who is a brilliant setter on most days, but also a continuous exercise in reading between the lines. Also, rude. Also, unnecessarily competitive.

It is best not to get involved, Ushijima tells himself once every day. Best, also, not to mind when he sees Oikawa with his arm around yet another pretty young woman, sees Oikawa posing for photos with his many friends, hears Oikawa calling out to others in the locker room “be sure to drop by” in a friendly voice, and having to wait for his own invitation, always said last, like an afterthought. Best not to let his gaze linger over the sharp angles of Oikawa’s shoulder blades, the thick, wavy hair, his brown eyes, so bright and warm under the lights of the gymnasium. He really ought not to think about them, and about the expanse of Oikawa’s chest, the toned abs, the hipbones jutting out above the waistband of his underwear as Oikawa is changing after practice.

“Good night,” Ushijima says, heading for the door. He wishes Oikawa had just passed by the classroom instead of deciding to step in and be a reminder of what he doesn’t want to think about. He can do better than Oikawa, he reminds himself. For example, the girls who gave him these roses. They are probably the kind of people the “Roses are red” poem applies to, the lines “Sugar is sweet / And so are you.”

“Wait,” Oikawa says. He sticks the rose into the breast pocket of his blazer. “I need your services. Be a helpful member of society for once instead of your usual selfish self.”

“I’m not selfish.” 

“Saying that, instead of asking me what I need, is a sign that you are.” Oikawa walks out into the hallway and points to a small grocery cart loaded down with boxes of chocolate. “Can you give me a hand with that? I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you put your own bags on the cart, okay?”

Ushijima has never seen Oikawa buy groceries or eat by himself in his dorm room before, he seems to be too popular for such things, so he must have borrowed the cart from someone. There are at least fifty boxes of chocolate on it, along with an assortment of roses. Yellow, pink, red.

He really doesn’t like Valentine’s Day, Ushijima reflects. Not only is it a meaningless, commercialized celebration, but it is also one that causes hurt feelings and unnecessary expenditures. He will have to buy thirty-three very expensive gifts next month. He will have to concentrate very hard on his studies tonight and not think about Oikawa.

He says, “You can push that by yourself.”

“How mean, Ushiwaka-chan.” Oikawa puffs out his lower lip. “I have a nasty paper cut on my palm, look.” He points to his right palm, where there is a long, thin cut. He continues, “I’ll probably have to sit out for practice tomorrow. How unkind of you. I wish those girls who gave you the flowers could see you now!”

Ushijima pushes his bags into Oikawa’s arms. Oikawa blinks, looking surprised, as his left arm winds around the bags. Ushijima glances at the cart again. It’s strange that Oikawa is spending time with him instead of getting ready for a date. Valentine’s Day is always Valentine’s Day for Oikawa, not Singles Awareness Day. 

“Fine,” Ushijima says. “I’ll push the cart, but you carry my bags.”

“Fine,” Oikawa snaps. “But you have to carry the cart all the way up to my room then. I was going to ask you just to wheel it into the front hall, but that’s what you get for treating me like your servant.”

Ushijima would never say no to visiting Oikawa’s room. The cart isn’t all that heavy, and Oikawa’s room is only on the third floor of the building. Ushijima starts pushing.

They don’t talk much on the walk back to the dormitory. Oikawa is busy dictating texts to his phone. He complains in his message to Iwaizumi, says that Ushiwaka-chan is being mean to him. He asks Iwaizumi how many chocolates he received and tells him not to be sad that his more beautiful and charming friend Oikawa has gotten more again. When Iwaizumi replies, the automated voice on Oikawa’s cellphone reads in a monotone, “Like I give a fuck how many chocolates u got Asskawa don’t make me come over there exclamation mark exclamation mark exclamation mark.” Oikawa laughs, and Ushijima feels a little envious.

As soon as they enter the dormitory, Oikawa heads to the right wing of the first floor and drops Ushijima’s bags right in front of his door. “There,” he says, dusting off his hands.

Ushijima lugs the cart up the stairs while Oikawa yells at him to be careful with the boxes. He is about to remind Oikawa that his own chocolates are probably squashed when he notices that Oikawa still has the rose in his pocket.

Ushijima returns to the task at hand.

“Room 301,” Oikawa calls out. “But you knew that already, right?”

Ushijima considers leaving the cart at the door, but when will he get another chance to see the inside of Oikawa’s dorm again? So he waits in front of 301 until Oikawa unlocks the door, then he pushes the cart inside. 

Ushijima looks around. Oikawa’s room is very similar to his own, cramped and filled with textbooks. Maybe just a little bit more organized. There is an alien plushie on the bed. There is a poster hanging on the wall of a movie star, whose hair, he realizes with a start, is rather similar to his own. It is bleached-blond instead of brown, but the cut is the same. And that frown is familiar. Sometimes when he looks in the mirror, he catches that expression on himself.

“I forget, sometimes, how much you’ve pissed me off in the past,” Oikawa says in a cheerful, airy tone. “So, when I saw this poster, I had to buy it. I always remember when I look at it.”

Ushijima highly doubts that is the only reason, considering how Oikawa has yet to return the rose. Oikawa looks a little flushed now too. Maybe he didn’t realize that Ushijima would see the poster and make the connection. Ushijima feels strangely happy, like he has just won a match during an elimination round. Maybe this crush isn’t completely one-sided.

He begins, “Do you want to-”

“No,” Oikawa replies. He grabs a box of chocolate off the cart and holds it out. “Here. For services rendered. Make sure you give me something very expensive for White Day, okay? Hint, hint, I need new sneakers. See you tomorrow. Bye-bye.”

His cheeks are still a little red, and he sounds almost angry, so Ushijima doesn’t press further. When Oikawa reaches for the rose though, Ushijima says, “No, I want you to keep it.”

And, before he can talk himself out of it, he leans forward and kisses Oikawa. Just a quick kiss, at the corner of Oikawa’s mouth. When Oikawa licks the spot, Ushijima straightens up, blushing, his lips tingling and wanting more. 

Oikawa is completely silent for once. He looks very serious, his gaze boring into Ushijima, who can feel his stomach sinking. Things were going so well.

But then Oikawa smiles and says, “Well, I thought you were just a grumpy old man, Ushiwaka-chan, but you’ve surprised me. Alright, you can take me out to dinner. I’ll meet you in the front hall in a half hour. But I’m still expecting those sneakers for White Day.”

Ushijima walks down to his room, holding the box of chocolate in both hands, hope blossoming in his chest, feeling as light as air. He can’t believe he was about to give up on Oikawa. 

He wants to give Oikawa something more significant than sneakers, or a standard box of white chocolate, for White Day. White chocolate chip cookies, maybe, baked from scratch? Tickets to see the women's national team play? He will have to start planning soon. Tomorrow. After the dinner.


End file.
